12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Alice: A year ago, we were watching Ethan lie his way to the Survivor finale. Now we’re watching him stare at you like you hung the moon . . . right before walking straight into a street sign. What is life?
Gigi: Are you sure you wouldn’t have kissed him if he hadn’t gotten a head injury??
Paige: I hate to break it to you guys but it’s FAKE . . .
Gigi: So is your commitment to giving us all the details!
Alice: DETAILS! We need them ALL!
Paige: LOL . . . you guys get all my details! I swear it’s not real.
Alice: Could it become real?
Gigi: If he needs fake in-laws, tell him my nonna is available!
Paige: I will not involve your sweet grandma in the lies . . .
Gigi: She’d love it.
Paige: She probably would!
Alice: Seriously, though. Is there tension?? Chemistry?? Do you want to kiss his face??
Gigi: Does he want to write love stories with you for the rest of his life??
Alice: OMG, are you guys writing your own love story RIGHT NOW?!
Paige: You both have lost your ever-loving minds.
Gigi: You’re deflecting! Tell me you don’t want to climb him like a tree.
Paige: GOODBYE FOREVER
Alice: You’re not getting out of this! We expect updates!
Gigi: And details. Lots and lots of details!
Alice: At yappy hour!
Paige: I think we need a new reality TV show to watch. You guys are too invested in my fake relationship.
Gigi: Nope! We like the Paige & Ethan show!
Alice: Best show ever!
Paige: Oops! Gotta go, my toast is burning.
Alice: You’re making toast for dinner?
Gigi: Lies! We know you don’t cook!
Paige: *winking face emoji*
Alice: Love you!
Gigi: XOXO
Paige: Love you guys!
Paige smiled at her phone, dropping it onto the counter before grabbing her actual dinner—a to-go box of pad Thai. She twirled some noodles onto her fork and stuffed them into her mouth, sighing in satisfaction.
Alice and Gigi were relentless, but they weren’t entirely wrong.
Yes, the relationship was fake. Totally, completely, one hundred percent fake.
Except for the parts that didn’t feel fake.
Like the way Ethan had leaned in on the train today, his breath warm against her ear, his voice lower than usual. Or the way his eyes had darkened when she’d glanced at his mouth—just for a second—before pulling away.
Or that she might have spent too much time thinking about that second.
Her phone buzzed again. She shook her head, preparing for another round of interrogation from her friends, but when she picked up her phone, it wasn’t them.
It was Ethan.
Ethan: I think I know where the next clue is.
An image popped up below his message.
The black-and-white photo was old—probably from the ’50s or ’60s. A man and a woman stood outside a theater, dressed in elegant evening wear. The woman, in a full-skirted dress, smiled at the camera while the man gazed at her like she was his entire world.
Paige’s chest squeezed. Ethan’s grandparents. Pops and Mimi.
She bit her lip, studying the marquee behind them. Despite the slightly blurred background, she recognized the iconic theater.
Her phone buzzed again. Another picture.
This one was more recent—color, not black-and-white. Ethan’s grandparents again, much older this time, snuggled together in the plush seats of a grand theater. The seats were red and gold. The ornate details sparked something in Paige’s memory. Her pulse kicked up a notch.
Framed in light, a century’s glow. A hidden mark where dreamers go. Stars above, stars below. Find the name that stole the show. Past and present, red and gold. Where echoes of cheers never grow old. Seek the seat where lovers met. Beneath the symbol they won’t forget.
Before she could type a reply, another text came through.
Ethan: Be ready at 6:30 tomorrow. We’ve got tickets to a show.
Alice brushed Paige’s hair and fluffed it one more time before stepping back with a satisfied nod. “Perfect. You look like a sassy goddess.”
Gigi popped another bite of cannoli into Paige’s mouth before she could protest. “And sassy goddesses must be hand-fed sweet treats. It’s the law.”
Paige, mid-chew, squinted at her friend. “I think you just made that up.”
“I think you should trust me,” Gigi said, grinning.
Paige grinned back as best she could while her mouth was full of pastry.
But when she turned to her full-length bedroom mirror, she nearly choked.
Who was that woman? “My hair has been aggressively curled, my eyeliner could probably cut glass, and you two have filled me up on so much cannoli that I could run from here to the theater.”
Alice and Gigi exchanged a knowing look before Gigi said, “You love it.”
Paige took one more look. “I kinda do.”
Alice beamed. “We love it, too!”
Gigi smiled, wiggling her fingers, admiring her makeup artistry. “I went for sultry but approachable . You like?”
Paige nodded, but also arched a brow. Sultry and approachable were not words she’d use to describe herself.
“Is he going to think I’ve lost my mind?
I never wear makeup. I live in leggings.
” She looked herself up and down, smoothing the front of a vintage T-shirt and dark jeans, which were paired with gold sandals.
With her hair and makeup done, the outfit looked fancy—at least, Paige’s version of fancy.
She somehow looked effortlessly chic instead of like she’d just grabbed the first thing from her clean laundry pile.
“You’re going on a date,” Alice said, taking Paige’s hand and sliding gold bangles onto it. “You’re allowed to dress up and wear makeup.”
“Also, you should do a French tuck.” Gigi gathered the front of Paige’s shirt and tucked it neatly into her waistband.
Paige watched as Gigi finagled the shirt. “What makes it French?” Paige asked.
“Instagram said so.” Gigi shrugged, and Paige accepted her answer.
“Fair enough.”
Gigi stepped back, admiring her work. “Mm-hmm,” she declared. “Ethan’s going to take one look at you and spontaneously combust. I mean, you’re hot in your leggings, but this ensemble?” She whistled. “He won’t know what hit him.”
Paige huffed a laugh, grabbing the sparkly clutch Alice had insisted she borrow. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re like my fairy godmothers or something.”
“Anytime,” Alice said, beaming like a proud mother. “We got you. Always.”
Gigi gave a wink. “Now go forth and make bad decisions.”
After a group hug and a stern warning from Alice not to overthink things—which Paige knew she would absolutely do—Paige climbed into an Uber, butterflies doing an obnoxious cha-cha in her stomach.
Why was she being so absurd? This wasn’t an actual date. There was no need for nerves. She was on her way to a research mission. A clue hunt. A fake date with her fake boyfriend.
Come on, Paige , she scolded herself. Get it together. No more butterflies. That’s crazy.
Ethan had texted to say he’d come pick her up, but she’d said it’d be easier to meet him at the theater.
When the Uber pulled up to The Chicago Theatre, Paige stepped out onto the sidewalk, instantly swept into the buzzing energy of the crowd.
Couples and friends snapped pictures under the iconic glowing marquee, the air thick with excitement.
But her pulse spiked when her gaze found Ethan.
Leaning casually against the theater’s grand entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his well-worn leather jacket, he looked like a dang movie star.
Like he was about to go on stage. His sandy-blond hair was perfectly mussed, and as he walked toward her, his sharp blue eyes dragged over her, lingering for a beat longer than necessary before he said, “Wow.”
The single word knocked her off-balance. She thought she might fall off her sandals.
Paige cleared her throat, trying to suppress the warm flush climbing up her neck. “Good wow, or why do you look like that wow?”
The corner of his mouth curled. “Definitely a good wow.”
She clutched her purse with both hands. “Alice and Gigi wouldn’t let me wear leggings or yoga pants.”
“I mean, you look amazing whatever you wear,” he said smoothly. “But I guess I see their point. Yoga pants are more practical for writing. Or, you know, yoga.”
“Oh, my yoga pants have never been to yoga,” she blurted, nerves forcing the words out. “But they’ve definitely been to Target and the wine bar.”
Ethan laughed, deep and easy, and just like that, her tension melted.
“Shall we?” He held out an arm.
She looped her arm through his, trying to ignore the way his solid frame felt warm and steady, even beneath the leather.
“So . . .” She glanced up at him as they walked toward the glass doors.
“The jacket. Is it your version of yoga pants? The piece of clothing you wear every day because it’s so comfortable? ”
“Actually, yeah,” he replied. “You like it?”
Her lips quirked. The jacket had grown on her. Just like Ethan. “I do. It’s tough, surprisingly soft, vintage, and really goes with everything.”
Ethan glanced down and ran a hand over the worn sleeve. “It was my grandpa’s.”
“Really?” Paige looked up at him, blinking.
“He wore it everywhere. Even when it was way too hot out. Always said a man should have something in his wardrobe that makes him feel invincible. For him, it was this jacket.” He paused, then added, quieter, “Makes me feel like he’s with me.”
Paige’s heart twisted. She smiled gently. “Knowing that, I love the jacket.”
Ethan held her gaze, something magnetic flickering in his eyes. Then he let go of her and pulled open the door. “After you, Ms. Moon.”
Her arm suddenly felt bare without his as she stepped into the grand lobby—where she immediately forgot how to breathe. The theater was stunning. Gold trimmed balconies. A sweeping red-carpeted staircase. The chandelier above them glittered like something out of a castle.
“This place is . . .” she trailed off, before spinning slowly to take it all in. “Wow,” she murmured.
Ethan grinned. “Have you ever been?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t.”